Surrender
by MortalPangs
Summary: Claire finds her Saturday morning spoiled by an undeserved detention. Yet, what she predicts will ensue is far from the day's events. Who could have known bending the rules would be so worthwhile? Femmeslash.


I cannot actually believe I earned a detention. What a way to start the weekend! This school, they should be praising me. Why, if it were not for my attendance, the number of male students would certainly have halved by now. Shopping- it certainly never occurred to me as a crime. And to think, the other teens in the class have probably been caught with weed, knives, changeroom sex…. And all I did was a bit of shopping. It really brings a girl down when she gets a detention for just wanting to keep up appearances. Being a Saturday morning, I was not used to waking at the dark hours of six o'clock- whoever set the detention times must be a madman! The first day of the weekend is about curling up under the covers until the sun comes shining through the window and then enjoying a warm shower and a lovely breakfast with a little reading. In some ways, rising at 6:00 a.m. was of my own choice, as I had to ensure sufficient time was available in order to make myself presentable. Smart casual wear should suffice, so I went for my simple pink chemise and skirt, with those delightful boots Father brought back from a business trip, when I was still on his mind... Aware that the session would drag for eight hours and fifty four minutes, I thought it would be foolish to not pack a small snack. _Harper's Bazaar_ says sushi is the best way to stay slim at the moment and apparently fish is a great brain food. Then again, I doubt detention is highly thought-provoking. Father was sipping a straight coffee when I came downstairs, mind you, that isn't unusual. Since last year, Mother and he have been a source of frequent argument, with Father retiring to the kitchen table or couch after every 'good night' kiss. It was polite of him to offer to drive me. _Polite. _Customary. In some ways he may have been attempting to compensate for all the days I had to wait at the library for his meetings to finish, or the weeks he left Mum and I alone when on business. Anyway, I shouldn't be devoting any more of my thinking time to a man who could not care less, so I'll shut up.

The car ride was a little on the silent side and I could not have been more thankful to escape the confines of his leather seats, even if it was for a detention. No other students were in sight, so I clutched my bag and bid goodbye to Father and started up the steps. This was sure going to be weird. I occupied myself with inventing the type of students who would be present... Most likely the guys who wear those leather jackets and nose rings and start fires in the school yard. And the ones who just sit and smoke by the steps during class. Then again, some of the girls I see hanging around those guys don't look too kind either. I hope there'd be someone else to save me from spending a day with soon-to-be jailbirds.

7:06 a.m. and I find myself sitting one seat down from a jacket-wearing jock (who is the closest I can find to normal). I hate this school. I hate Principal Vernon. I hate the students who walk these halls. I hate those in particular who press their gum underneath the desks, just so I can spend the beginning of my Saturday detention freaking out about my contaminated fingers. Why, I hate this dreadful library. I hate the dust that dances around the light from the windows; I hate the echoes which catch the smallest of sounds. Daddy says hate is a strong word, hah, it feels inadequate at the moment. Left alone with this group of possible psychopaths, drug dealers and crazed perverts to pay for the petty crime of going shopping- they may as well attach tracking devices to each and every teenager at the school. Knowing that I'll be here until late afternoon, I decide to mentally assemble a social profile of each student. The guy to my left is an obvious sports jock. The other at the back seems fresh out of prison. The boy across the room wears the telltale sweater of a nerd. Yet, the girl behind him is hard to analyse. She seems like a recluse, perhaps a basket case... but her deep, dark eyes seem to beg otherwise.

Desperately needing to stretch my cramped muscles, I decided to take a short walk around the library. It was less than an hour into the detention, yet the day was dragging on for longer than seemed logically possible. Just as I stopped to examine a couple of novels in the third aisle, I felt something brush against my shoulder. Turning, I found myself facing the girl with the dark eyes. For a moment, I can barely form words; my mouth opens and closes like a puppet... wait, since when am I intimidated? This girl just, well, appeared out of nowhere. "Hi, I'm Claire. I just felt like a distraction. You know, with it being a Saturday in detention and all... this isn't exactly a regular thing for me." Why couldn't I talk to this girl normally? I could almost say I felt nervous. No. Impossible. In front of a recluse like this girl, why, Father would be ashamed. Just as I was ready to leave, she responded in the faintest of whispers, "I know who you are. If you so desperately want a distraction, I'll be near the recording room in five."

Within seconds, she drifted behind the bookshelf and out of sight. Had I heard her correctly? Surely she is not suggesting what I think she is... Yet again, there was this dark allure in her eyes. Oh, be reasonable. You're not a lesbian, nothing is going to happen. In fact, you're probably just exaggerating the situation. The recording room? Most likely just an ideal place for gossip. It's a Saturday morning. It's early. You're stuck at school. The other students look whack. Take the offer. Wait, what if she is also whack? She might be out to kill. Or, the other students could be in on a meticulous plan to murder. I'll take my chances.

She was waiting when I made my way over. At first, I hadn't noticed just how exquisite her features were under that mop of hair. She sure didn't give herself away. As I approached, she opened the door to the room. We sat down. Silence filled the air for some time, before her whispery voice made its way into the stuffy confines of the studio. "I suppose you're a little weirded out, what, with my asking you here and all. Just like you, I was bored. I'm Allison by the way; as I'm sure you haven't heard of my name." As she spoke, with that soft voice she had, she leant closer. I swear I felt her breath hit my cheek with that last syllable. "In all honesty, I haven't. I am glad you invited me here though, there's not much for us to do out there." She was dressed mostly in black, with shades of grey providing little contrast in the mute ensemble. Her scarf was looped around her neck, her dark hair hovering above the material. The only light element was the pale skin of her face. Yet, this was soon broken by those staring, dark eyes. I felt her gaze on me as I examined her and immediately looked away, shy from being caught. "You're looking at me, Claire, probably thinking I'm just some poor, nutty, downtown girl. Well, all three stand correct. But, there is more to me, you know. I could look at your pretty little outfit and perfect hair and say you're a spoilt, ignorant, rich princess who is about as deep as a puddle." Her words offended me, but, more than that, they made me want to prove her wrong. I felt guilty for having labelled her as a basket case and nothing more, for there was more, behind that stare of hers... the wild mass of hair... the soft and tender lips, which appeared foreign against her unwashed hair and bulky clothes. Before I knew it, I felt this desire consume me. I wanted to touch her. Was she doing this to me? Well, to be truthful, I couldn't care. She was pushing the various switches on the control panel up and down, up and down. Her fingers pressed buttons and turned knobs, while her eyes watched me, probing for more. It was irresistible, this urge to get closer to her. I began to feel hot. I moved a little closer, just as she had done earlier. "While you were right in saying I'm rich, I have to argue the other claims. Yes, my parents spoil me, but that is to make up for their guilt and not having raised me like parents should. I'm not ignorant, I do understand others. I just don't like to show it. The thought of being different from my friends scares me. I guess, for that reason, you _could _say I'm a princess." The corner of Allison's lip curled and a glint of satisfaction gleamed in her eyes. She had succeeded in exposing me. Perhaps that is all she wanted, to judge me like I judged her. As I planned what to say next, her hand passed over mine. I looked up, looked deep into the swirling depths of her eyes, like a turbulent black sea on a stormy night. She had me. I moved closer and felt us connect. Her lips grazed mine, they ran along my cheekbones. My eyes fluttered open and closed as one of her hands stroked my face, the other moving from my hand to thigh. I looped my arms around her neck and pulled her closer. Our lips became more desperate, our mouths screaming to be filled. I felt the tip of her tongue enter my mouth, delicately tickling the throbbing chamber. Her fingers stroked my thigh, before she pressed her palm against it and applied more pressure. The sweetness of our lips together was so new to me. I liked it. The way she touched me, it felt... naughty; sinful. This only made me want more. I moved one hand from her neck to her collarbone and allowed my fingers to dance down the fine structure. My fingertips grazed the softest of skin. Suddenly, I felt a tingling in my lip... she was biting it, ever so gently. I was caught in a moment so fulfilling; intoxicated by intense pleasure. Why, I should start bending the rules more often.


End file.
